Acknowledged Solitary
by StarksthenameSnarkisthegame
Summary: AU. When the team and Pepper get killed, Tony (almost) goes off the rails. Phil is holding it in, not strong enough to let his emotions out yet - to recognize that their gone; the men and women he was told to watch over. Then Tony calls Phil and everything changes. Not a suicide fic - not slash. Phil/Tony bromance. Small mention of Fury. Warning: Mentions of past alcoholism.


No Copy Right Infringement Intended.

A/N This is kind of dark, so beware. Review, Favorite, and Follow! Warning: Dark, language, loneliness, death fic. I don't know if I'm a sap but I cried like ten times while writing this. c:

_**PROMPT: PHIL AND TONY ARE THE ONLY ONES LEFT AFTER SOMETHING KILLS THEIR FRIENDS (FURY TOO IF YOU WANT). TONY'S ABOUT TO SNAP BUT HE CALLS PHIL INSTEAD. CUE PHIL AND TONY FEELS.**_

Dark; the absence of light.

It's all he thinks about, all he sees anymore. He used to see light, the luminescent hair of Pepper when she walked in front of the sun. Steve's disk of Vibranium, as he threw it and it caught the rays of the bright star above; when Clint's shiny arrows whizzed past him, barely avoiding taking his ear off; when he caught a glance of Natasha's silver knife, in that crowd of red that seemed to be apparent every time she fought; when a desk lamp would reflect off of Bruce's glasses in the dim lab; when Mjolnir was angled just right and he spotted a small glimmer of gold on the massive weapon. He used to stare at his chest, the faint blue glow always making him happy to be alive; reminding him that he _is_ alive.

But now everyone is gone. Everyone is in the light, and they left him; in the dark. He sits on top of his building, he's not there to jump, no, he's not worthy enough to die. He's not worthy enough to be where they are. He needs to sit in the blackness and suffer because he let everyone down. They are together somewhere, if he wasn't a man of science he would say Heaven, but he is in fact, a scientist, not a man of faith. He would pick up a Bible if he thought it would make them happy. He can feel it in his faulty heart; he knows their together, probably sipping on some margarita's or something. He smiles for the first time in months, Pepper could never handle alcohol well.

He stands and walks over to the edge of his tower, peering down at the unadulterated activeness of the city below. He sees smiles and hugging and kissing and hand holding and it's a_ll _too much. He stumbles back and counts like Bruce taught him, preventing a panic attack. He lies on his back, watching the darkness of space and the clouds of pollution. He wonders what would've happened if the portal closed and he was stuck in there, in the blackness of space. Would it be so different then down here?

He decides that no, it wouldn't be any different. He would've been alone and numb, like he is now. He wipes a lone tear that pushed past his defenses. No, it would've been identical.

You don't realize how alone you really are until you see everyone else, surrounded by friends and family. He was Tony Stark back then, he could've had no one but Pepper and he would've been content. Then he met the team and realized that this was what normal people did. They connected with other humans, they bonded.

So he listened to Pepper, he got close to them, allowed them to see the real him. The Tony Stark who doesn't say something sarcastic every three seconds, the one who was polite and sweet and remembered birthdays. They accepted him, to his surprise, and he found himself no longer friendless. They all got close, they all became family.

Then a trio of relatives of a Ten Rings member came back, wearing suicide vests that happened to have SI weapons attached to them. They got close to the team and released the pressure button, effectively killing everyone he ever loved. It was a curse that he was sick that day and that they were out, getting him his favorite soup.

The blast radius was a mere fifteen feet. It killed three civilians and the entire team of Avengers, excluding himself; _but you're only a consultant, not really a team member he reminded himself. _They were blown to pieces because his weak immune system couldn't fight off a flu. They were blown up because he was the Merchant of Death all those years ago; because he was weak enough to be kidnapped in Afghanistan. Because he was so hell bent on revenge that he couldn't leave one terrorist alive. They died _because_ of him.

He staggered back over to the edge and sighed hopelessly. He hadn't shaved since _it_ happened, his goatee turned into a full blown beard. His hair was growing pretty long, his curls becoming apparent now. He hadn't changed his clothes but four times since _it _happened a month ago. He hadn't stepped a foot out of the tower, forcing Coulson and Fury to meet with him here. The tower was spotless, his bots cleaning and cooking for him, even when he didn't eat. The Avenger's floor was on lockdown, he couldn't even look at the button on the elevator wall without puking. Jarvis was always speaking, trying to initiate conversation with him, even if all he did was grunt in response.

To say the least, he was broken. He was constantly fighting the urge not to drink, holding his two year sobriety chip until his knuckles were throbbing. He had promised the team he would stop and he wasn't going to break that, ever.

He frowned softly and stood from the roof, he hobbled over to the door, and going into the crisp silence of his tower was just another reminder that they were gone. He could hear the slight hum of his refrigerator that he would've never noticed if someone else was here; anyone else. He padded through the dark floor and reached his bar. He grabbed his hidden bottle of scotch and threw it at the wall angrily. He snatched his cell phone, refusing to look at the contacts of his team, even if they were the nicknames he had thought up. He clicked on "Agent", not looking at the contact directly underneath, "Katniss's" number. He sighed and sat down on the couch in his regular movie spot, his phone to his ear.

"Hello?" Phil asked quietly, signing one last paper before putting his full attention on the conversation. Tony almost hung up but he wasn't going to break his promise. He needed someone here before he drank himself to death.

"Agent…Got any free time?" He whispered quietly, his voice as broken as he was. Phil frowned and grabbed his keys. He rushed out of the door, afraid of what Stark was going to do.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be right over. Hang on Stark, don't do anything you're going to regret later." With that Phil hung up. He reached his car and floored it, arriving at the Avenger's Tower in ten, short minutes. He felt tears sting his eyes at the dull 'Avengers' sign; _he was supposed to protect them. _He dropped his own emotions, instead focusing on Tony, who was in trouble; _who was alive_. He ran into the dark, abandoned building and pressed the appropriate elevator button more times than necessary. He heard the cheerful ding of the metal box and stepped out, searching Tony's guest floor for any sign of the man.

He spotted a small, huddled figure on the couch and made his way over, his eyes adjusting to the dim room. He was about to sit down when he heard Tony sigh.

"Agent…" Tony said softly, sounding more like a scared little boy then his actual age. Phil smiled sadly and sat down next to the man, who was laying in a fetal position in the corner of the couch. He reached out and touched the man's shoulder. Tony flinched and he drew back slowly. Tony sat up, rubbing at his glazed over eyes. Phil couldn't help but notice how bad the man looked.

"What's up Stark?" He inquired softly, his eyes never leaving the man's face. Tony shrugged and pointed towards the scotch-splattered-wall and the broken glass at the floor. He held his sobriety chip with two, shaking fingers.

"I didn't break Agent…Didn't give in yet." Tony muttered quietly, his eyes filling with tears, ready to join the fallen ones of his cheeks. Phil nodded in approval and grabbed Tony's hand gently, effectively covering the small, plastic chip in the process.

"I'm proud, they would be too…" Phil said quietly, his eyes burning with unshed tears. Tony shrugged and Phil squeezed his hand.

"When was the last time you slept Stark?" Phil asked softly, his eyes searching the man's pale face. Tony shrugged and Phil decided he was getting tired of the action. Tony Stark was never unsure.

"Don't know." He muttered honestly. Phil looked up at Jarvis with a curious gaze.

"Sir has been awake for eight days, fourteen hours, three minutes, and nine milliseconds, Agent Coulson." Jarvis declared softly, his crisp, robotic voice cut through the thick air like a knife. Tony looked up in surprise but hid it with an obnoxious cough. He wiped his eyes with a bloody finger; _he must've cut himself with the bottle._ Phil pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the man's now-bloody, tear stained face. He moved down to the small cut on Tony's finger. He wrapped the white cloth around it and smiled up at Tony, who was watching him with tired curiosity.

"You need sleep." Phil said softly, he stood and held out his hand to the man. Tony took it without complaint and that worried him even more. He led Tony to the guest bedroom, Tony wouldn't sleep where any of the Avengers used to. He fixed the rumpled covers and pushed the skinny man into bed gently. He covered him up; the large bed seemed to swallow him. He would need to feed him when he woke up; the man looked like a walking stick. He tucked the covers around him and turned towards the door, about to make some coffee, when Tony called out.

"Agent? Can, can you stay? Please?" Tony asked softly, his eyes scared and watery. Phil smiled sadly and climbed into bed with the younger man. He slid under the covers and felt tears prickle his eyes. Tony sniffled and wiped his own tears.

"I miss them, all of t-them." Tony declared softly, his eyes filled with hopelessness. Phil nodded and allowed a tear to escape. Tony reached up and wiped it with a shaky, calloused thumb.

"Me too Stark. Me too." Phil admitted softly, his clogged nose forcing him to breathe out of his mouth. Tony looked up at him through dark, wet eye lashes.

"W-what am I supposed to do Phil?" Tony asked softly, his tears soaking the pillow underneath him. Phil was surprised by the use of his first name but ignored it. He searched for Tony's bony hand underneath the covers. He grabbed it once he found it and looked at the chip.

"You keep going, you keep sober, and you stay alive…You live; they would want you to be happy." He reassured softly, his eyes becoming red, along with his nose. Tony nodded and twisted an ebony curl nervously.

"It's hard Phil, real hard." Tony declared softly, his tears turning into small sobs. Phil nodded and grabbed the man. He wrapped his arm around him, rubbing soothing circles on the bony back. He felt tears on his collar bone and he was sure Tony felt them on his shoulder. Tony laid into the crook of his neck and Phil sighed. By now they were both shaking with sobs, neither of them able to control themselves. After all these days Phil finally let it out, in the least expected place possible; Tony Stark's bed.

"I know T-tony, I know."

A/N This was just a one-shot that I thought up, it's not slash so no flames. Review, Favorite, and Follow! c:


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